


Afternoon Tea

by saturnina



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Smiths
Genre: Consensual Kink, Crack, Crack Relationships, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, RPF, Sexual Humor, Smiths Slash Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/pseuds/saturnina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tea time would be easier if Andy would just play along...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ad_Absurdum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/gifts).



> Written for the 2012 Smiths Slash Secret Santa, that happened over at LJ! This is my first Smiths slash ever, so I apologise if it's a bit OOC!

_Tea time still ain't the same without my Donna_  
_At night I lie awake and dream of Donna_  
_I went to our cafe one day_  
_They said that Donna walked away_  
_You'd think at least she might have stayed_  
_To drink her afternoon tea_  
~ Afternoon Tea — The Kinks

 

It had begun as a joke. 

Morrissey had brought home the dress some crazed bird had thrown on the stage during a gig. He had not paid attention to it, but one of the roadies rescued the forlorn garment from the cleaning crew and brought it backstage. Andy could remember Johnny joking about wearing it in the next show, and using the guitar to cover his legs — the frock was too short to cover them — which earned him a biting reply from Moz in the lines of 'you don't look feminine enough'.

Not that Johnny had been upset by that — he just smirked and threw the dress back at Morrissey, who held it away from his body as if it was contaminated somehow.

"Andy would look nice in a frock," Morrissey commented, indifferently, "being blond an' all like a schoolgirl."

"No way mate!" Johnny quipped. "Andy has more chances of growing a tail than lookin' like a _proper_ young lady..."

Mike limited himself to look at Andy, and then at the dress, and then at Andy again, and shake his head helplessly. Andy couldn't believe they were discussing this, but then... Moz gave him a sideways glance, one that was crafted specially for him, and the bassist needn't be a mind reader to know something wicked had crossed Morrissey's usually sanitised mind.

Indeed, in their next time alone at Andy's house, Morrissey made him wear it. He did, in the spirit of having fun. A sexy, unexpected twist. 

He told himself he just wanted to make Moz happy. But if he had known the consequences of his decision, he would have slammed the door in Morrissey's face and never looked back.

~*~

"Wot the hell is _this_!?"

Morrissey cocked an eyebrow as if Andy was being facetious. 

Only he wasn't. The shock was real.

"That's for you, sweet thing."

"Looks like you've mistaken me for a fuckin' bird then," Andy said, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and outrage. 

He threw the skirt and shirt back into the box with purposeful spite, mumbling something offensive under his breath and walking away. Morrissey grimaced at the ugly word, before rolling his eyes.

"You don't need to be crude. It's just a game."

"I dressed up last time alright? It's a one night thing. I won't shag wearing a skirt again."

"No one is asking you to _shag_ , pillock."

Andy turned his head around so swiftly Morrissey thought it would unscrew from his neck and fall on the ground. He snorted at the idea which made Andy blush even harder both from anger and shame. 

"Whatcha laughin' at?"

"Your completely over-the-top reaction."

"Over-the-top!? How d'you expect me to react?"

"I don't know," Morrissey answered, shrugging innocently, "a bit more open-mindedly?"

"I won't have sex dressed like a girl, forget it!"

"Nobody talked about sex, _pervert_!"

The bassist just watched, an incredulous expression painted across his features, as Morrissey nonchalantly began to reassemble the items he had brought and put them neatly back into the box. After closing the box lid, he threw Andy a glance of absolute disdain and walked towards the door, leaving the blond man and his pride behind.

"I won't do it."

"Hn, of course you _won't_."

Andy knew he should have stayed firm in his resolution, even though this probably meant having to deal with a rather stroppy Moz for the next month. But what hurt was Morrissey's scorn, cold and sharp like a knife, and for Andy it felt like the beginning of a loss. He finally had the man he had wanted for months right in his hands, and was letting him slip between his fingers over something foolish like pride...

Moz wouldn't purposefully harm Andy now, would he?

Maybe what he had in mind wasn't so bad...

His gut feeling told him he'd regret this, but his legs carried him after Morrissey before his pride could convince his heart.

~*~

"Oh why, you look most fetching today... Andie."

"Shut yer bleedin' gob!"

"Tut-tut. Looks of a princess, manners of a drunken sailor."

It became a routine — a routine Andy had no idea why he put up with in the first place. Every free Saturday, around 5 pm, Morrissey would pick him up at home and take him to a low-profile cafe on Muswell Hill so they could have their afternoon tea together, away from the heart of London.

Nothing out of ordinary, except that Andy would be dressed like a girl.

Maybe he was a masochist. He did _not_ have to endure this. If he knew what was good for him, he would tell Morrissey to take his box of frills and cram it up his ever so clever arse. He actually told Mozzer that couple of time, only to watch the other leave to have his tea alone, much to his own regret.

No, he didn't know what was good for him, but it wasn't mere masochism. He had a real craving for their post-tea time love, for Morrissey's almost— _almost_ —romantic softness when they were alone again, when he helped Andy to get rid of the girly clothes to love him as a man. The long words breathed into his ear that Andy did not care about, except that they came from Morrissey's mouth and were thus messages from heaven itself. 

Anger only fuelled their passion, in those quiet Saturday nights. Love and lust, mixed with just a bit of spite for having to spend hours wearing miniskirts, leggings and off-the-shoulder shirts. And Andy could see in Morrissey's usually veiled eyes, that glint, that discreet fire... the same one he felt inside himself.

That's why he put up with his lover's strange game. 

Today, however, Morrissey was proving to be a most unpleasant company. He wasn't satisfied with discreetly mocking Andy, but seemed to enjoy the dirty stares other guys gave him. Andy felt awkward and exposed, and wherever he looked he saw the shadow of a gossip columnist, ready to ambush them. Every strange face was someone who would recognise him and then... then it'd be the end of his public life. 

He told Morrissey of his fears only to get a dismissive scoff in response.

"Nobody would recognise you. I, on the other hand, am under the serious risk of people thinking I have a girlfriend."

"Well, t'was your own bloody idea! Would serve you right!"

"That's why I tell everyone you are my cousin."

Another detail Andy despised. After all the hard work he put in looking like a girl, Morrissey called him ‘cousin Andie' in front of other people. Andy was man enough to dress like a woman, but Morrissey wasn't man enough to acknowledge him as his lover. For some reason that made him feel rather smug, as if _he_ had something Morrissey didn't have. Like bollocks. 

That were, by way, being nearly squashed inside the rather tight lace knickers he was wearing.

"Why must I wear girl pants?" he murmured over their table.

Morrissey waited until the elder waitress had put the tea set and biscuits on the table before answering.

"'Cos otherwise everyone might see your jewels — milk?"

"Yes, please."

"Ah, you look adorable when you exercise your good manners!"

Andy rolled his eyes and accepted quietly the china cup of steaming Assam tea.

"Feeling peckish?"

"Not really..."

"Still you oughta try the biscuits – they are home baked!"

"Ah."

He took one of the biscuits and slowly dipped it into the tea. It bothered him a bit that Morrissey behaved as if the situation was completely normal. But what bothered him more right now was the lace touching his testicles, itchy as hell. He shifted uneasily on the chair and tried to gently pull the uncomfortable garment away from his private parts.

"What d'you say we order some cucumber sarn—my _God_ don't touch yourself down there! In public!"

"Moz—"

"In the middle of the _tea_!"

"It's itching—"

"It's _disgusting_! Go wash your hands!"

Andy's eyes widened in disbelief. He almost got up and obeyed Morrissey, but finally he decided he had had enough. _Disgusting_ , eh? 

"Funny that you'd say that," he hissed, leaning over the table so the other customers wouldn't listen, "'cause you put your mouth there very often."

"It's a different context."

"Different how? The prick's the same."

"Hush, insufferable prat!" Morrissey spat quietly, eyes darting around suspiciously. "D'you want NME to come rushing in with tape recorders?"

"Oh, why not? I'm just your bloody _cousin_."

It was Morrissey's turn to roll his eyes. He leant back into the chair and sighed loudly, as if he was dealing with a child that was at once unruly and imbecilic. When he decided to start talking again, it was in the most patronising voice Andy had ever heard in his life.

"It's a game, Andy. You can't be a lady and scratch your boy parts at the same time. If you'd just play along..."

"I'm wearing a wretched polka dot dress, pumps and _knickers_ and you say I don't play _along_? What the fuck yo—"

"Language, please."

Andy shot up from the chair suddenly, causing it to slide backwards and screech across the hard wood floor. Morrissey looked deeply chagrined as the other patrons shot them curious glances. 

"Will you please calm down—?"

"You're having the time of your life, aren't you _Steven_?"

"Don't use my hallowed name in vain, please."

Andy pinned Morrissey with a furious glare, before turning on his heels.

"I hope you and your _soddin'_ name enjoy the tea."

And Andy walked away, furious and proud. Inside his heart, along with an enormous swelling of dignity, there was a little bit of regret – but just a _tiny_ little bit. For some reason, he was almost sure that this time Morrissey would be the one coming after him.

~*~

Morrissey just looked as his bandmate walked away, pumps thumping noisily against the wooden floor. He even dared to slam the door behind him, which made the singer cover his face with his hand in sheer embarrassment. He noticed that almost all male heads had turned to follow Andy's departure, the blokes probably wondering what had he done to make his beauty leave him in such a tempestuous mood.

Nevermind, he thought. It's not like he needed Andy to have a good tea. 

He had just wanted him to dress and act like a girl for a few hours... he hadn't expected him to develop feminine sensibilities and get all offended over _nothing_.

He tried to remember what he was thinking before Andy began to _fondle_ himself in public. Oh yes, cucumber sarnies.

Morrissey was about to raise his hand and call the waitress, when he looked down at the abandoned tea set, the forlorn biscuits, the cooling tea. He felt his throat tighten, and he glanced at the door.

Andy wasn't coming back. He knew that.

He slowly brought the now cold cup of tea to his lips and decided he'd have to do something about this unexpected development. Tea time wouldn't be the same without his Andy...

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Nothing in this fanfic is true and I do not claim that the people mentioned in it are like this in real life. No disrespect is intended.


End file.
